


Nothing (That Can't Wait for Morning)

by asarahworld



Series: The Doctor and Rose Tyler [34]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Ficandchips, Human AU, Tumblr: doctorroseprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 12:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13123719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarahworld/pseuds/asarahworld
Summary: @doctorroseprompts 31 Days of Ficmas – Ginger, Candy Canes, Holiday baking; Twelfth Doctor month.  Human AU.





	Nothing (That Can't Wait for Morning)

“Really, Rose?”

Rose Tyler-Smith looked up from her sugar biscuit dough, which was just about ready to be to cut into, and set her rolling pin aside. “It’s almost Christmas,” she said happily, puckering her lips for a kiss to which her husband happily obliged.

“The semester’s not finished yet,” Iain groused, his pout returning as his wife drew back.

“No, but it’s not as if I have a time machine where you can mark your papers and be done with it in no time at all,” Rose called over her shoulder, digging in the drawer for the festive biscuit cutters. “Besides, thought it might inspire you to finish sooner!”

She was right about that. The quicker that he finished marking, the sooner he could post marks and be done for the semester, able to join his wife in the festivities. He eyed a box of candy canes distastefully. They sat in their cardboard box, waiting to be opened and dipped into hot chocolate. Candy canes.

“I can see I was wrong about inspiring you to finish,” Rose’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “Tell you what though, go up to the office and get some work done and I might have a surprise for you.” Iain looked up at his wife, brought back to reality.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Guess I’m rubbish company at the moment.” Iain gathered the exams together, giving Rose an apologetic half-smile as he left the kitchen.

Twenty-five minutes and one paper later, Iain heard a faint beeping from the kitchen. The first batch of Rose’s cookies were finished, then, or nearly. He flipped the page, trying to stay focussed on marking. Iain thought of the holidays, just around the corner. Long, warm evenings spent in front of the fireplace, Rose curled up beside him, a plate of cinnamon gingerbread cookies on the table (he was allergic to ginger), an animated Christmas special playing in the background on the telly. He re-read the sentence.

“You’re going to ruin your eyes if you go on squinting at the page.” The lamp clicked on, flooding the office in a warm light. A soft hand took his, gently forcing him to drop his pen.

“Rose, I,” but he was cut off by a finger held firmly against his lips.

“It’s well past midnight, Iain,” Rose whispered softly, “come to bed.”

Iain looked from his wife to the stack of papers. There was nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. He allowed her to gently pull him to bed, draping an arm over her shoulders as she cuddled closer to him. He looked down at Rose, already asleep, her head right against his chest, and turned out the bedroom light.


End file.
